


Pound for Pound

by OutshinedtoBlackDays



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Sports Reporter Rey, boxing au, could be a slow burn? i haven't decided yet, er nurse Rose, i'm just fucking reaching at this point, sexism in the workplace, sweatpants are a reoccurring character too, there's going to be some violence-it's a violent sport
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22443757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutshinedtoBlackDays/pseuds/OutshinedtoBlackDays
Summary: Famed heavyweight champion Kylo Ren hasn’t been seen in nearly two years—following a scandal that left him without any titles.Rey is working as a sports reporter for the local news in NYC, trying to prove herself in a man’s world.  Her career becomes a whirlwind when she’s granted an interview with the discredited pro.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	1. i. i hang on to everything that you say

  


”But, it’s just that…y’know. Grey sweatpants look better on dudes. I always feel frumpy and gross. But with guys the shades always look good and it seems athletic and-“

“There’s the obligatory dick outline.” 

Rose nodded; grinning at Rey she sipped the last swirls of her merlot. She set the glass down, her scrubs still crinkling as she stretched fully out on the couch. Rey passed her the next eggroll without a second glance, already wrapping her lo mein noodles around the plastic fork in her hand. 

It had become a ritual whenever Rey and Rose shared a night off. They would order whatever takeout was available, go through a couple of bottles of wine and watch shitty TV. Grey’s Anatomy re-runs were the go-to between the Netflix binges and TMZ blocks that circulate in the late hours of the night. Sometimes they even go through the effort of face masks and nail painting, but it’s laborious and too fucking much after the whole week. Though they still try to do it every Sunday—especially since Rey found a twitter dedicated to whether she recycled outfits.

“Right! Anyways, this guy comes in tonight with a broken arm. Odd angle, all that.”

Rey nearly choked on the last bite of her food.

“Nothing protruding from skin, it was actually in his wrist. We just had to reset the bone back into the socket,” Rose cut her off before Rey could speak, waving her hand dismissively.

This wasn’t anything of the ordinary; Rose came back with a slew of ER tales—probably violating every HIPPA regulation when she regaled them dramatically to Rey after tearing through half a bottle. To say Rey enjoyed them was an understatement. Rose got particularly enthusiastic in her reenacting, with or without alcohol.

“Rey, he just had the sweatpants on. Like, _just_ fucking sweatpants. No other stitch of clothing.”

Rey had moved on to the takeout box of pot stickers, stabbing through the foam with vigor. She stared at Rose with an eyebrow raised, the start of a smile pulling at her lips.

“So?” Rey asked as nonchalantly as she could. 

Rose sighed, picking herself up off the couch. She had only been home long enough to barrel through the glass of wine and a couple mouthfuls of dinner.

“He was married. His concerned wife was in the room with their kid,” Rose mumbled, already walking down the hall and stripping out of her scrubs. Thankfully tonight had been a bodily fluids free shift.

“Bummer,” Rey lamented rising just enough off the loveseat to pour the rest of the bottle in Rose’s glass. It seemed well deserved.

Rey was still in her own work clothes, a bandage dress that kept rising higher and tighter up her thighs as she finally settled in and relaxed. She could give one flying shit less, however, as she was able to get her heels off. 

“I’m sure she’s a happy woman, though. Because those sweatpants did _not_ lie.”

Rey giggled into her glass at Rose’s return, triumphant to have finally got the answer that Rose had been hinting at the entire time. She had been flipping through their available channels lazily, switching it between Sports Center and some old Bob’s Burgers.

“Any new sports happen today?” Rose questioned, nearly falling on Rey as she grabbed her glass, looking from the TV to her tired roommate.

Rey flipped her off as she laid back into the cushions, finding the comfiest spot wedged in between. She worked the local NBC station in the city. This had its perks—but always seemed to be an uphill battle. Being one of the only female reporters on the sports broadcasting front meant she had to fight constantly to get anything over a fluff piece. This past weekend had been an NFL scandal, however, leaving Rey with enough airtime to count and swollen ankles.

“I’ve been up to my eyeballs debating over that game between the Steelers and the Browns,” Rey huffed, thumping her head against the back of the loveseat. “The station decided they wanted a ‘ _talk and walk_ ’ statement. Kitten heels are out of the question if they want any shot of me below the knee.”

Rose sat up in an instant, taking the corkscrew off the table and reaching for their second bottle. She pulled the cork in one fluid motion and stood to fill Rey’s empty wine glass. Neither one of them paid attention to the wine that sputtered on the table as the glass was nearly filled to the rim. There would be time to clean that in the morning. 

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry they kept you going back and forth in those—wait did you wear the knock offs today?”

There was a conspiratorial glance given to the offending shoes in the foyer, stilettos that were open toed and cuffed around the ankle. They were pretty, but not for jogging around set trying to follow a play by play.

“There’s a blister under my middle toe,” Rey all but moaned, shooting her leg out for Rose to look. It was fruitless, of course. They both sat in the dark with only the television glaring between them. But it was the unwavering support that made Rose tut to the darkness, spite growing on her features.

“I got a blister under my toe just for them to give me about ten minutes of debate. And I wasn’t even allowed to talk about Garrett or Rudolph!”

“I don’t know what that is, but it seems like you already know more than them.”

Rey snorted into her drink, rolling her eyes as SC played through the Call of the Day. The whole day’s events were shifted through—again putting a damper when it ended with the judging and fines for the NFL regarding the game.

“They let me stay the whole show though. So can I complain?” 

“Yeah you should complain! They had you running around the studio to really only have you say that this is an aggressive sport and whatever over a fucking free throw.” 

Rey’s correction went unsaid as Rose threw up her hand, the beginning of her rant just starting to fire up.

“It’s bullshit that you always get high school fluff pieces or felt up by minor league pervs. Especially when you can recite the Giants roster for the past fifteen years by heart. Or know the exact fucking moment that MacGregor hit the ground against Floyd Mayweather. You actually care about it.”

“Sometimes,” Rey surmised, shooting Rose a wry grin.

“Point is you just need to fight back. You’re not just a piece of ass. You’re a piece of ass that _knows_ her job.”

“The tag line of women in sports journalism, Rose. That’s the first thing they taught us.’

Rey’s wine almost tipped onto the taupe fabric after Rose slugged the throw pillow across the room. Thankfully it was an inebriated throw and Rose’s near perfect aim fell off the mark.

“At least you have nice calves,” Rose mumbled, rolling her eyes as Rey switched over the television to their recorded shows.

* * *

The night had progressed with an impromptu pedicure and Grey’s marathon (Rose said it was necessary because neither of them should have swollen feet and she didn’t get enough drama at work).

Unfortunately it also spilled into a bottle and a half more of wine—which turned into both of the girls getting sloppy drunk.Somewhere past the fun and lighthearted drunkenness, Rey had known she would pay dearly in the morning.But it hadn’t mattered because at least she would get to spend Sunday at home and she would be able to sleep it off.  
  


* * *

Rey was cotton mouthed as she struggled to lift her head off the pillow, the zippered edge leaving a burning sensation on the side of her cheek.There was a blaring in her eardrum, a consistent ringing that echoed throughout her skull.Rey felt the wave of nausea run over as she lifted her body too quick, her stomach clenching with the movement.

There was a brief moment where Rey thought the potstickers were going to make a reappearance, but she settled herself on an unsteady forearm.It took a few minutes to collect herself, mostly to stop the dry heaving and look around the empty living room.

It took her a moment to find where the source of the noise was coming from, especially since the thundering at the corner of her temples was proving to be louder than everything.But she found it in the blaring of the TV, left on after the girls had drunkenly declared it a night.

TMZ was playing loudly, a recap of the week with the breaking news trailing at the bottom.

Rey thought it was her still-drunken haze that left her with blurred vision, because she knew that headline couldn’t be right.It _couldn’t_.

Her heart nearly stopped beating when there was accompanying footage, a brief glimpse at an outside gate at JFK, with a figure cut all in black trying to push through a mob of people.

She felt the pounding excitement push through the rattling in her skull as the headline appeared once more, dating and time-stamping the entire moment.

 **BREAKING : Previous Heavyweight Champion Kylo Ren returns from stint in Swiss rehab. Unaccompanied by the First Order since the scandal of 2018**. 


	2. ii. i'm sayin' that i got a lot to work with

__

_“-sad to see the end of the Skywalker era here, Jim. Just sad. There was such a promise with this kid and the gloves and it’s just thrown away.”_

_“Y’know the family has been cursed since Luke ended with the light heavyweight title of ’91. It just hasn’t been the same since-”_

_“That’s talent and legacy just going down the drain. Kylo Ren just single handedly gave up his career and a dynasty. I don’t know if boxing will ever be the same without some Skywalker blood in the game.”_

The media went into frenzy once the news broke. Dragging a story around that wasn’t fully explained—a hazy mix of events that riddled the Skywalker name. They tore it apart with scrutiny, detailing every moment of his career that Kylo Ren showed an unhinged moment or explosive nature. Never mind that he was succeeding in a sport where athletes had a 90% chance of brain damage. None of that mattered as long as he ended up on the front page; stumbling from a black, dented 2017 Bugatti Chiron with a bloodied eyebrow that needed stitches and a heavy limp.

Nobody really seemed to know what the accident had stemmed from. TMZ and Entertainment Tonight had initially covered it as him driving under the influence (his confrontation with the police officer had went viral before the night was over; perpetuated by a broken angled right hook and extremely slurred speech). ESPN and other sports syndicates billed it as the result of a concussion, perhaps the early stages of being punch drunk. It was reasoned that this would have made sense with as many blows as he had taken in his last match. The rumors circulated for weeks about his proposed court dates and hearings—but nobody ever received a firm answer as to why Kylo Ren ruined his whole career in one night. 

DUIs and drunken misconduct charges were near next to normal for professional athletes. It was almost expected that with that amount of prestige and wealth came absolute stupidity. There wasn’t a need in their lives anymore—just a void to fill after finding a long and hard earned success. Lawyers in the field were well versed and were in turn paid outrageous amounts to help clear up images and eradicate charges. Volunteering in local communities, charity donations, Make-A-Wish appearances—the fucking _works_. It was simple and just a part of the game.

Except that wasn’t the case for Kylo Ren. He was born Ben Solo—with the proverbial spoon hanging out of his entitled mouth, pulling at the coattails of a family legacy. The whole family lived on billboards and magazine articles, from Anakin’s humble beginnings to the feminist powerhouse that was Leia Organa. There was never a want or need to succeed, just the ability to prove. From the outside looking in he had no struggle or conflict, just one easy shot to the top. The world knew this from growing up in Skywalker living room, from the everyday lives played out in the tabloids.

And that’s why everybody fucking _lost_ it. Because he had seemingly threw it all away with no second thought. He destroyed the legacy with fucking _ease_. 

The public took no time in tearing down his image in nightly dissection of his ring mannerisms and unruly temper. How he had one time swung when a referee had started into the ring, or the other time where had stormed out of an interview with a major publication—followed and stalked with his First Order cronies who were fondly coined as the Knights of Ren. At the time it had been seen as him stroking his celebrity image, having fun with being young. But now? The tabloids ran with it like it was wildfire, with no end in sight. Almost like he had been a bomb that had been planted—waiting for the _exact_ right time for detonation. The family was examined under a fine tooth comb; picking over the highlights of Luke’s career and retirement, digging into Leia’s charity work, and rummaging through the coming and goings of Han’s garage. There was a general consensus that there wasn’t any way that he could have come from something so prosperous. It was the lingering assumption that he was the black sheep of the family. 

And then he had just _left_.

He left in every sense of the word. There was no follow up for the wreck he was involved in, no court proceedings after assault against an officer. It seemed like the man had just up and vanished. He wasn’t physically seen, nor did his PR team release any statements. After the first few weeks of the rumor mill circulating over an incident that was highly publicized but never fully understood—it seemed like there never was a Kylo Ren. Just the damaged wake of his decisions and the ultimate demise of his career, with the bewildered public wondering why somebody would give it all up.

* * *

After about six months there was a statement issued by the First Order that they would no longer be representing Kylo Ren under their team. Nothing else was disclosed.

* * *

That’s why the media was a fucking shit storm when Kylo showed back up into JFK, without any forewarning and only donning a ball cap and a bottle of Smart Water tucked under his arm. 

He wasn’t a hard person to miss—nearly half a foot taller than the crowd surrounding him and enclosed by an all-black clad security entourage. They moved through the airport with people gathering every step of the way. It had been a smart idea to fly him in the wee hours of the morning, when red eyes and long, international flights dominated the airport’s traffic. It meant that everybody was tired, trying to get to their hotel, and not paying much attention to their surroundings. It seemed like it was coordinated that way—from flying in privately to taking some employee passageways to get through more congested areas to avoid as much interaction as possible.

The initial announcement came from a tag on Twitter, followed by a couple of posts on Instagram. A live post started and the internet went into a renewed craze over Kylo Ren—rekindling of the old headlines blew through Buzzfeed like wildfire, with TMZ dominating as they were finishing their late night recap. Everybody was excited to hear that he had suddenly appeared once more, almost like a ghost appearing—back from the dead. The paparazzi came in the airport by the droves, waiting to get that singular money shot. There was a continuous group that was always there, camped out to have the shot of some actor or musician looking rugged and dehydrated after a long flight. It was odd, to have him with such a welcomed homecoming. Especially since his name and reputation had been dragged through the mud.

There were no other headlines other than that he had returned, however. Kylo was discreet and polite as he trumped through the crowds at JFK, leaving almost as quickly as he came. There were no throw down brawls with him in response to some backhanded comment from a loud mouthed pap. There was no sense of animosity between him and the gathering crowd of (fans?) and sightseers. It was just a simple pass through and it made the whole incident more of a mystery. What had happened to change him so much? The public eye had seemingly built his reputation after he had left—chalking him up to be a disgruntled professional athlete who had a substantial temper.

The sports world was ostensibly rocked by the royal return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. I'm sorry it's been a month y'all. I had planned to update this a little bit sooner. But..I ended up taking a trip to Disney World (with a failed attempt at getting on Rise of the Resistance) in between work. With that being said I have been on a Star Wars binge ever since--so expect something more soon. 
> 
> Hopefully the next chapter won't be as long of a wait. Thank you again for all the kudos, comments and bookmarks! Y'all make my love for casual writing worth it.


	3. iii.  turns out everywhere you go you take yourself, it’s not a lie

  
Rey had decidedly shut her phone off after spending nearly three hours scrolling and digging through a particularly mind-numbing Twitter discourse. She had to remind herself that she was _off_ today and the thorough research wasn’t necessary. Rey was fairly certain they wouldn’t even give her a piece near Kylo—not even a quick snippet while discussing the weekend topics. It was too big picture and after the Friday showdown of football—Rey absolutely knew that she wouldn’t be welcome around the water cooler. Well, that was if they even remembered what her opinion _had_ been. It had seemingly gotten lost in a vicious back and forth between her male co-hosts and Rey had finally acknowledged her argument was finished once the stage manager had asked her to commentate between the two.

But Rey couldn’t shake the buzz of just knowing he was back in New York—it didn’t stop the tingling anticipation of seeing a possible return to the ring. No matter the online forums or whatever bullshit went on at work. Rey could hardly hold in the excitement from the news, nearly knocking Rose over when she had woke up that morning as she had frantically repeated that _the_ Kylo Ren was back in the city. Rose had affectionately replied that Kylo Ren could go where he pleased, but _she_ would have to keep it down until something strong was brewed.

Rey tried not to take it to heart. She just didn’t _understand_. This could be a record-breaking comeback. It would be history in the _making_.

But Rose was undoubtedly hungover.

So Rey turned her phone back on and scrolled until she was knee deep in a debate and halfway through a particular subreddit while she sat over their coffeemaker, listening to Rose sigh dramatically every so often while draped over their kitchen bar. Rey commiserated as she settled down beside her, the telltale ache thudding around her temple. She resorted to laying her head in her hand, hunched over the bar in an effort to release some of the tension. Her phone was still held in the other hand at a crooked angle, displaying the pap footage from last night in a series of shittily made gifs. 

“I miss moments like this. You. Me. You staring intently at your phone screen and ignoring the words coming out of my mouth.”

“Wha-what did you say?” Rey blustered, blinking through the question as she sleepily stared at her roommate over the steaming cup in front of her. She wasn’t even aware that the mug had been set out. Rey sheepishly smiled once making eye contact with Rose, wiping down her face to somewhat shake herself.

“I said are you going to be able to cover your boxer boy?” Rose motioned to Rey’s abandoned cell phone with a crumbling piece of toast.

Rey snorted into her mug, the piping hot liquid nipping at her hand as she jumped. “There’s a better chance of me interviewing Bill de Blasio about his high school baseball team.”

Rose casually nodded in agreement as she instantly grabbed Rey’s hand and giving it a once over. She blotted softly at the reddened skin as she stuffed the rest of the toast into her mouth. “Sure, could definitely happen,” Rose shrugged as she sat Rey’s palm back on the counter. “But I thought he played football.”

Rey jerked her hand away with a half-hearted scowl, sticking her tongue out at the statement.

“After Friday I’ll be happy if I can even cover something mainstream. They’ll probably be some remark on my desk Monday morning about my cankles or that too much of my knees were showing.”

“Forbid the knees,” Rose finished dryly.

Rey tilted her head slightly as she stared just past the coffeepot on the counter. Her brain dragging at the thought.

“On the off chance they might let me tackle something else if others have any sort of assignment. Kylo Ren just might be my ticket for having a good story.”

Rey was rambling, but it was true. If the attention was diverted and she played her cards right she could possibly end up with at _least_ a couple NFL games for the week. No telling what else would be open.

“So let me get this straight. You’d at least get some on air coverage to tackle a game or interview because of this guy?”

“ _Possibly_ ,” Rey sounded out, dissecting the word as it left her mouth; thinking through what options could come.

There was blissful silence for a few moments as Rose sipped through her coffee in thought, watching Rey work her way through their last few pieces of toast.

“It’s really shame you couldn’t do it. I bet he looks _fucking_ amazing in sweatpants.”

Rey laughed, clinking her mug with Rose’s empty coffee cup. “Keep dreaming on that, because there is no chance in _hell_ that they’ll let me near the new, next best thing.”

* * *

Rey had stared at her phone all morning. Had the damn thing nearly glued to her hand since she had woken up. Studying and going through all the available articles. And yet, there was something off that she couldn’t explain.

Kylo Ren looked different than Rey remembered. Perhaps it was the hangover she was fighting her way through or the grainy picture that graced her dimmed phone screen. But he looked…different. It was an annoying kind of difference which kept nagging Rey throughout the morning, as it didn’t appear to be a totally physical thing (disregarding the face full of beard).

It lingered with the dry mouth and pounding headache, poking and prodding as she tried to navigate through her Saturday morning routine. It was bugging the ever loving shit out of her that she couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact discrepancy. She knew it wasn’t the heavy gait of him walking through JFK, nor was it the way he had politely slid between photographers when jumping into a tinted SUV. 

Rey was still trying to figure it out once she had entered the group home—ready to start her Saturday morning session with her weekend kids. Almost every other weekend she was able to volunteer and her usual group didn’t mind when she had to skip a week because she usually came back with an autograph or a jersey. They knew her as “Ms. Rey on the TV,” and her volunteer sessions usually dragged past the normal extension time for some reason or another (last week had been because Rey had brought a couple of baseballs in that were leftovers from the World Series). Sure, her stories and pieces might not have been the absolute _best_ —but she had friends in high places when the occasion called for it.

She was usually assigned for an exercise class for the younger kids, but her availability shifted based on whatever was needed. Sometimes she would tutor and sometimes do a journalism workshop with the older youth. It was refreshing to Rey because she never actually labelled it as volunteer work. She saw it as the opportunity to support the kids in a way she never had in the system. 

Regardless the paperwork was still a pain in the actual ass. There were loads of sign-up sheets upon entry to the facility and Rey was still sitting, filling out the necessary paperwork. She mused that while most of it was mandatory it was also very distinctly scripted and toneless. Besides background checks she was made to fill out an entry form that was always headed with a big, bolded **WELCOME** followed by an open box with instructions in italics that said _please tell us a little about yourself_. 

She wondered who ever answered that thing long-winded (or in this chance, long- _worded_ ). She knew for certain that nobody actually read the damn thing, and what would it mean if they did? Most volunteer work at this group home was either for the children’s educational structure or some sort of government mandated course of being reprimanded. Rey knew better, having grown up in the same system. The people that they let come and go were from all walks of life—some of them better than others. 

Nevertheless, Rey always wrote something different each time she had to sign in. Today she ended her note with the usual smiley face, it following a statement that she was happy Kylo Ren was returning to the boxing world because it could just _maybe_ benefit her career. Rey tried to keep her introductions as silly and lighthearted as possible. Sometimes they were internet inspirational quotes and often times she would write down her highlight of the week. If the off chance ever came that anybody read them while filing state forms—she hoped they would at least be amused. It never seemed to be an issue, however. As she was given her usual visitor’s pass and ushered through the doors to the school hallway.

Rey was glad for it every time. Because it always felt in a calming way that she was coming back home. Their usual recreation area was always muddled with artwork and schoolbooks, layered with baskets of toys and stacked on top of mismatched furniture. It was a welcomed space compared to where she worked throughout the week, and Rey practically thrived on it. She smiled as she rounded the corner to the open rec room, finding an assortment of her usual group huddled around the communal television. 

She waved quietly as a few in the back of the group turned around at the noise of entry—jumping up and halfway running as she fully entered.

“Ms. Rey is here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love y’all. may the fourth be with you (late because am I ever on time for anything ever??).
> 
> Thank you again for all the kind messages, kudos and bookmarks ya’ll are simply the best. And as always drop a line if you feel inclined. I’m always down for a chat!

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all I’m trying this out--just bear with me. Also, this whole story was inspired grey sweatpants.


End file.
